It Can Get Worse

Note, this is political, this is political satire, this is making stuff up and calling it humor. You may not find it funny and that's fine, everyone thinks they have a sense of humor when many people do not. Or you could just find me unfunny and that would make me sad but oh well, can't please all the people all the time so I'm just going to please myself all the time.
How can this administration perform more poorly and be even less stable than they are now?

Why, give George some liquor, of course. According to the mediabistro: FishBowlDC there are some (completely unsubstantiated) rumours swirling around that Georgie got ahold of the key to the liquor cabinet. And then all hell broke loose. I was able to secure a few moments with the president just after he upended his half empty bottle of Jack, gulped the rest down and then flung the bottle against the wall, cackling wildly as the glass exploded. His (non)-responses are in italics.
"Mr. Bush..." I began.
"Call me George Porgy Pudding Pie or I won't answer any of your questions."
"Okay, George Porgy Pudding Pie," I began again but was cut off by his explosive laughter that sounded more like a machine gun being fired than mirth.
"George Porgy Pudding Pie, I'd like to know what has precipitated this return to the bottle knowing your checkered past with the fire water?"
"Precipi-what? What the hell does that word mean? Are you trying to make me be stupid or something? And the white man doesn't drink fire water, only Injuns and people from Cleveland."
"Okay, sir, if you say so, so," and he cocked an eye brow at me as if exhorting me to say it again, "George Porgy Pudding Pie, what made you start drinking again?"
"What didn't make me start drinking again? The public won't just believe the ridiculous crap I say and mis-say. Turd Blossom's going to have to be sacrificed. Brownie screwed up Katrina and didn't protect Trent Lott's house, Iraq is in shambles and Osama's still sending me nasty emails taunting me and calling me Alfred E. Bush. Why not get drunk?"
"Good point, sir. But don't you think your responsibility is to keep as clear a head as possible for the good of the nation? Especially with Rita bearing down on Texas as we speak and you drool?"
"Rita? I knew some girls named and Marge and Rita that partied together like nobody's business back at Yale or maybe they were from Harvard? Anyway, they had a great thing going. One would walk around with tequila, the other with the margarita mix and they'd make guys sit down, put their heads back and they'd administer an instant margarita in your mouth. And one of them had really big boobs and she'd lean down over you while pouring the tequila in your mouth, that was pretty cool, booze and boobs in one stop!"
"That's fascinating, sir. About Hurricane Rita though?"
"Hurricanes? Oh yeah, we used to drink those like water down at Pat O'Brien's, now Pat's is underwater. The world is a fucked up place and you can quote me on that."
"Yes, sir, George Porgy Pudding Pie, sir. But I was asking about your thoughts on the hurricane named Rita that's slowly moving towards the coast of Texas?"
"Texas? Hey, I'm from Texas, did you know that? A great little place called Crawford where I've got a huge ranch that I can shoot stuff on and hunt and fish and hide from mean mothers of dead soldiers."
"Okay, thanks for your time, sir. I'll see myself out."

And, as I walked away from him, he was starting to shrug himself out of his clothes, right down to his loin cloth. The door was closing and I could see the loin cloth was coming off too, the surprising thing is that none of the dozen or so people in the room paid him the least mind at all, as if it happened everyday.

I would have started grinning as I walked away and heard the loud hooting from his office and then I remembered that this man is the most powerful man in the world and he's drunk, naked and just as stupid as ever. At least they knew enough to keep the nuclear football away from him while he was shitfaced. He might just nuke Massachusetts if they let him.

And they're still trying to clean the poop off the ceiling of the Oval Office.
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